


Truth, Justice, and the Westerosi Way

by SanSanFanFan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, Just because its fun!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-03-09 14:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3252695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanSanFanFan/pseuds/SanSanFanFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SanSan superheroes!</p><p>For Westeroswolf's birthday.  I have no idea if you like superheroes, but I was writing this and then saw it was your birthday so I'm dedicating it to you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth, Justice, and the Westerosi Way

**Author's Note:**

  * For [westeroswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/westeroswolf/gifts).



The third time she found him, crouching at the edge of a roof top and glaring at the smog dimmed lights of King’s Landing, she brought muffins.  Hot dog and pineapple ones by the smell of them.

“Goodnight The Hound!” She swept down on those glorious fucking silver wings that shone so brightly in the moonlight he still weren’t certain if they were real feathers or some kind of alien tech she’d brought with her.  He drew back further into his dark green hood.  He was wearing a mask, but even so he used the darkness…

“No, no, that’s not right, is it?” She lands lightly, her long laced boots touching down on the concrete of the office block’s flat roof. “Goodnight is a farewell.  But why so, if ‘Good Day’ can be a greeting?” She tilts that beautiful fucking face as she thinks, the flowing silks of her purple costume still dancing around her even though the night wind was still.

“And it aint _The_ Hound. Just 'Hound'.” He growled.

“In the Daily Planetos they call you ‘The Hound’.  The Hound, the vigilante, they say.”  She folds her wings up behind her and the odd silver feather floats loose.  They don’t look like metal.

“Yes, but when you talk to someone you... you…” Fuck! He doesn’t know how to explain English grammar to her. “You just don’t say the ‘The’.  Like I call you ‘Songbird’, not ‘The Songbird’, like they do in the bloody Daily Planetos!”

She comes closer, standing over him in that damned purple cat suit, the silks drifting about her, and he fights several urges at once.  The dogs below them in the alleyway stir and some of them roll about on the ground, hoping for a belly rub that aint coming. Stupid mutts!

“Actually, you more often call me little bird.  Although I am not little.  I believe I am one and a half inches above the human female average height, for my age…”

He growls. “Do you have to talk like that?!”

“I have offended you? I am sorry, I am still trying to learn human customs.” She smiles and then she’s holding forward a brown paper bag.  “I even baked you a gift!”

“I’m on a stake out not a fucking picnic!”

She frowns. “I do not understand why intercourse would be a part of a picnic?”

He glares up at her from the depths of his hood and sees the slight play of a smile about her lips.  The glare evaporates.  “You’re trying to be funny. You know I’m swearing.”

“You do it so well, I am learning so much about human slang and idioms.”

He groans and a few of the dogs below start barking.  “Fine! We can sit and eat your bloody muffins.”

She walks with him towards a raised part of the roof that makes them an uncomfortable place to sit, then she watches him as he bites into the muffins.  Waiting for a compliment no doubt.  God knows if they’re any good.  Her strange combination of hot dog and pineapple don’t even bother him, not since his accident.  Dogs don’t have as many tastebuds as humans.

“A ‘stake out’? I do not know this term.”

“I aint surprised, it’s not exactly your style. You’re more for fluttering about the bloody city in the fucking daylight, foiling bank robberies and getting your picture taken with kids!”

He regrets snapping at her as her face falls.  But she’s only been fighting crime in King’s Landing for a few weeks and they’re already talking about a fucking parade for her, of all fucking things! While _he’s_ been taking out the Mountain’s men for _two_ bloody years now, and all he’s got is a bounty on his head from the fucking mayor!

Then those strange blue eyes are on him and he sees sadness in them.  Loneliness? “I like it when the human children smile at me.”

Damn him! Even _he_ likes seeing her soaring over the city, looking out for trouble, when he’s in his civvies and driving about the city in his van calling out to strays to take back to his dog shelter. Fuck it, he even likes seeing The Songbird’s picture on the front page of the papers, or her red bird symbol on posters, or even on fucking t-shirts and mugs and all that shit the traders are selling to the tourists now.  King’s Landing’s own fucking superhero!  Because she aint half bad to look at… silver wings an’all. In fact, it’s been a fucking treat these last few nights to have her seek him out and spend time with him.  Not that he’s going to say that.

“Well… a stake out is when you think some bastards are up to no good, but you aint certain, so you watch their base until you got a reason to take them down.”

“And you suspect the Mountain’s men are working from the building opposite?” She’s attentive, those blue eyes capturing his, framed by long delicate eyelashes.

And she don’t even wear a fucking mask! Of course, she’s an alien, doesn’t need to hide her true identity.  But he found her alter ego anyway, didn’t he? Because he knows that everyone needs a safe place where they can remove the cape for the day and rest up.  And with his extraordinary sense of smell it were nothing to follow her scent through the city to the skyscraper.  The Daily Planetos of all fucking places! But he’d been surprised that the strange alien smell of her… not that bloody dissimilar to lemons of all things… had led him down to a basement archive and a mild mannered young woman in a shapeless dress and baggy knitted cardigan that might be hiding a folded pair of wings as well as her distracting fucking curves.  A pencil stuck through the bun she’d made of her endless red fucking hair and a pair of unflattering glasses hadn’t fooled ‘Anders Hill’, nor had her fake bloody name, ‘Sansa Stark’. The glorious Songbird was a plain looking bird in the day, but she was still the little bird he’d met on his night time rounds of the city.

What had she made of the large man with the scars who’d come by her basement office to ask about some back issues?  She’d asked for his card, the one for his shelter and his dog training services, saying that she’d been thinking about getting a pet now she’s got some place to stay in the city. Come to think about it, a dog settled at her apartment would be handy if he needs to keep an eye on her…

“The Hound?” she asks, and he’s brought back to his senses, stopping himself from thinking about the polite but quiet archivist at the Daily Planetos. 

“Tol’you, its just ‘Hound’ when you talk to me, little bird.”

“Apologies.  You think the Mountain’s men are there? Over the past days I have done exactly as you told me and left them all for you to deal with!” She chirps, smiling.

“Good girl.”

It’s fucking stupid of course.  The two of them working together against the Mountain could bring him and his organisation down in a matter of days.  But the Mountain is _his_.  Especially after what happened… he stays away from memories.

“The building’s owned by someone I think is working for the Mountain.  Or _with_ him.  It’s not clear.  The Mountain don’t like smart lieutenants but this man has been making waves. Getting things done, so now I’m thinking maybe both the Mountain and this ‘Littlefinger’ are working for someone else, a mastermind I never knew about when-” he stops himself.  She can’t know how he knows so much about the Mountain’s gang.

“‘Littlefinger’? Is that a normal human name?”

“It’s a nickname.” Sandor smiles grimly. “Dunno how he earnt it, but Petyr Baelish-”

His hand rushes to a knife tied to his thigh as she stands quickly, her wings flaring as she shrieks, the sound making him groan and hold his head. His dogs start barking down in the alley way and he sends them a quick order to shut them up.

“Petyr Baelish?!” She cries.

“Hush girl!”

“You don’t understand!” she’s running swiftly towards the edge of the rooftop, towards Baelish’s building where she’ll fucking ruin everything, so he reacts quickly, throwing out a long studded leather leash that wraps about her ankles and allows him to yank her back. She flaps wildly, darting up into the air, and it takes all of his enhanced strength to ground her again. And then she sings.

He feels the strength leave him, crashing to his knees as he succumbs to her song, his head lowering in its dark hood.  Oh, he’ll be such a good fucking dog if she just keeps on singing-

What the fuck?! He shakes himself out of it and calls out telepathically to his dogs who start a cacophony of barking that interrupts her harmonic attack long enough for him to scrabble back to his feet and pull again on the leash to make her crash onto the rooftop, onto her wings.  She cries out in pain, but then he’s lying over her, holding a gloved hand against her mouth and trying to ignore how good she feels underneath him.

“No more songs from you, little bird!” He growls, but then he sees the tears in her eyes and removes his hand.

“Please!  Please, my wings!”

Sandor pulls away from her, letting her sit up. “What the hell was that about?!”

She curls her wings protectively about herself as she sits on the dirty rooftop, covering herself as she holds back sobs. “Petyr… Petyr Baelish was the first human who found me.”

“What did the bastard do?!”  He grips harder on the knife, until his knuckles strain.

“I was lost.  My ship was knocked off course in a wormhole when I was in the Deep Sleep.  I have no idea how far I am from my destination.  And he seemed like a friendly face when my ship crash landed in the outskirts of King’s Landing-”

“That was you?! LannCorp said it was an explosion at their Qyburn labs!” Her wings tighten even more about her and he pauses. “Go on.  What happened?”

“He said he knew a safe place.  It was not a safe place.  There were other women there.  They told me that they would be sold and be made to have intercourse-”

Sandor’s on his feet, heavy black boots marching towards the roof’s edge, not caring that his hood is nearly pushed back by the sudden motion.  “Baelish ain’t there, but the men using the building might know how to find him!”

“Wait!” And it’s her turn to race after him. “You’ll ruin your ‘stake out’ if you just rush in! You want to get to the Mountain, don’t you?”

“This is more important!” He looks back towards her, and he remembers that they called her ‘The Angel’ when she first arrived, flying into a burning building to save a family and their disabled daughter.  And standing there now, on the rooftop, breathing fast as her silks dance around her, her blessed fucking wings outstretched, she looks pretty damn like one.  That Baelish would fucking _sell_ such a breath-taking creature to the highest bidder! He growls deeply, showing his sharp teeth and the dogs below join in.

“I got out before he could hurt me! I got all the women out! And I will see _justice_ done!

“Justice?! There ain’t no justice with men like Baelish or the Mountain! There’s just the sharp end of a fucking knife!”

“You want to kill the Mountain?!” She gasps.

“He made me like this!” He gestures at his face, but he sees her looking to his sharp teeth and not the burns hidden by the mask and shadows.  But maybe that’s good, he aint ready to talk about _them_.

“Your powers?! I thought maybe you were like me?”

“An alien?! No, girl.  I was just human, until-” he stops himself, he knows how it sounds. “Until a radioactive dog bit me.”

Her eyebrows rise.

“Radioactive, or something. I don’t fucking know! Found it in the streets, thought I’d take it to the shelter… I’d heard of one somewhere.  It was pretty messed up, half shaved and covered in scars and stitches like someone’d been operating on it. Now I wonder if it didn’t bloody escape from Qyburn Labs and they’d done something to it.” He holds out his arm, pulling back the lycra and the Kevlar.  The bite mark scar there still has that strange olive green tint to it. “After it bit me I was sick, off my game.  But there were no powers until some fucker shot me in the back of the head and I died.  Then I came back like this.  Half fucking dog!”

What the fuck was that?! He’s never told anyone what happened to him and now he’s sharing his fucking origin story with some alien girl!

“Who shot you?” She whispers, and the lie has to be told.

“It was the Mountain.  Or one of his men.  I was a cop and he didn’t like me snooping around his organization.” What would she think if she knew he’d grown up in it?  Done what the Mountain had told him to, because he hadn’t known anything else. Done… bad things.

He crouches at the roof’s edge again.  What a shit hole King’s Landing is!  Between the Mountain and men like Baelish, Mayor Lannister’s got no fucking chance of clearing it up.  Tywin Lannister needs men like him, even if the bald idiot wants his head.  This city _needs_ men like him.  Men who’ll do the dirty jobs that need doing. But maybe… maybe it also needs a superhero who can pose for photos with little kids without hiding her face behind a mask.  Maybe it needs her day to his night.

“Why did you come find me again? I’ve seen you, flying about in the daytime over the city, those silver wings flashing all pretty in the sunlight.  Why are you about at night as well?”

She walks across the rooftop towards him, then he feels her hand gently touch his shoulder and it’s all he can do to stop himself from standing and pulling her to him-  Where’s _that_ idea come from? Then he realises that the dogs are there in his mind, urging him on, filling his head with images of a bitch in heat that is pleased to be caught. He mentally snaps back a harsh response and it stops. She ain’t like _that!_

“I was on my way to my wedding.” What the hell, is she trying to piss him off?! “The wormhole was to take me to planet Baratheon, to its prince.  He’s considered very handsome.” He growls.  No, not _him_.  It’s his dogs below in the alleyway again. “But it was what you call an ‘arranged marriage’, and I did not know him.  But now I am here on your planet, and I find that I like helping people.  I like saving humans and preventing them from dying.  So maybe, even if I knew the way home, I would not want to go.”

“You didn’t answer my bloody question!”

“Yes I did.  Are you not also a person who needs saving?”

He laughs darkly.  He’s stronger now.  He heals fast.  He can call to the strays and have them do his will.  Why would _he_ need saving?!

“Once my scout reports back from that fucking building I am going to tear into the Mountain’s men there and get some fucking information out of them, before I put them in the hospital.  I do _not_ need saving!”

She looks sad again.

“But thanks for the muffins.” He says gruffly. “Wouldn’t have thought of putting hot dog and pineapple together-” he stops, eyes staring into space as the terrier he sent into the building makes contact.  An impression of men, unwashed, stinking of guns and sweat, comes to him.  Thirteen separate smells, thirteen of them. Fuck!

“What is it?”

“There’s too many.”

“I can help.” She shakes out her wings, all bloody business like suddenly.

“Don’t need help.”

“I have super strength too.  And my song can disarm them.  I can fly and I am… what is the term? Bullet proof?”

“This aint some kind of fucking audition. I know what you can do. But I work alone!”

“Not anymore!” She smiles widely before leaping into the air, diving down over the edge of the roof, wings outspread and shining in his eyes as he stares after her.  Fucking hell! He shoots a grappling hook down to the other building and swings in after her, green cape fluttering in the moonlight.


End file.
